


In which Gil learns an uncomfortable lesson

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: unreliable narrators [8]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gil is in denial, Mid-Canon, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: Boundaries. It's about boundaries.





	In which Gil learns an uncomfortable lesson

As they walked together, Gil found himself matching strides with Tarvek. Did they automatically adjust to keep pace with one another? Did Tarvek have to think about it? Did he even notice?

Tarvek said something mindlessly political just to fill the silence, and Gil stole a glance at him. Was he also thinking of the distance between them? That they might have been friends in Paris? Tarvek stared straight ahead, giving no indication of his thoughts. 

The wound on Tarvek’s cheek caught Gil’s eye, redirecting his mind. The scab had formed straight and fine, like a line drawn from a sharpened pencil. The skin around it, however, looked hot, red, and angry. Gil lifted his hand to touch it. 

Tarvek jerked his head away. “What are you doing?!” His steps faltered, and Gil stumbled to a stop beside him. 

“That looks infected.” He reached for the wound again.

“It’s just the poison,” Tarvek snapped, backing away. “It’s fine.”

Gil followed. “Just let me—”

“No.”

“I want to see—”

“ _No_.”

“Just for a moment—”

“GILGAMESH! STOP!” 

The Sparky notes creeping into Tarvek’s voice froze Gil where he stood, and he saw that he had managed to use his superior mass to maneuver Tarvek against the nearest wall. As he lowered his outstretched hand, he saw how Tarvek trembled. Was that rage? It couldn’t be fear…?

“It’s going to scar if it goes untreated,” Gil said, suddenly feeling small and awkward. “You hate facial scars.”

“I will proudly wear a scar from a Night Master. You need to listen when someone tells you to stop.” Tarvek’s voice had normalized, but his sharp gaze held Gil immobile. 

“I wanted to help.”

Tarvek’s jaw clenched. “You ignored me when I refused,” he said through his teeth. “If you try that with Agatha, she will  _destroy_  you. You’ll deserve it, too.”

Uncomfortable memories of a rooftop fight swam up through the fog of the last two and a half years. Yes, Tarvek had a point. “I didn’t mean…” Gil sucked in a shuddering breath and tried again. “I don't…”  _I don’t know how I got from concern to cornering you against the wall._

“Of course you meant it, you idiot.” But something in Tarvek’s posture softened, and Gil felt an immense surge of relief. 

“Sorry.”

“For presuming to know what’s best for me, or for making me feel like you were going to dislocate all my limbs to stop me from running away?” Tarvek gave a rueful shake of his head. “No, don’t answer that. Just try and disconnect that Wulfenbach-knows-best valve and  _listen_  to people from time to time.”

“I don't…”  _I don’t know how_. “I’ll try,” Gil amended, knowing how pathetic he sounded. 

“You will. You’ll try, and you’ll fail, and you’ll get angry and remember to try again.”

It annoyed Gil that Tarvek knew him so well, but he bit back a sharp retort. If he forgot to listen after only a moment, he really was as bad at human interaction as Bangladesh DuPree always said. Instead, he nodded and took a slow step backward. 

Something like sadness flashed in Tarvek’s eyes. “Just… Don’t give up.”

“I can if I want to,” Gil grumbled, almost squirming in discomfort at the way Tarvek looked at him. 

“Sure, if you want to be an idiot.”

Gil took the bait without thinking about it. “Wouldn’t you like to be right about me for a change?”

Tarvek clapped both hands to the sides of his head and made a noise of frustration. 

“Is that a no?”

“Are the two of you finished with watever—” Trelawney Thorpe made a vague gesture at the both of them. “—Romanian courtship ritual this is?” Apparently she had noticed them missing, and had doubled back to collect them again. 

“I’m not Romanian,” Tarvek grumped. 

Gil panicked. 

“Did you  _tell_  her?” he demanded. If Tarvek had decided to announce their betrothal to total strangers, perhaps it wasn’t a joke after all. 

Tarvek gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “I didn’t, but I think you’re about to.”

“I can’t do that!” Gil blurted. “Everyone will want to kill you!”

Tarvek looked as though Gil had just slapped him with a chilled eel: first flabbergasted, then irritated. “Explain to me how that’s in any way novel,” he said. “Go on and use the smallest words in your vocabulary.”

Ms. Thorpe placed one hand on Gil’s arm, and the other on Tarvek’s. “ _Gentlemen_.” She emphasized the word as though disbelieving it. “Everyone already knows.”

No, not about this. Or… Perhaps Colette had shared her opinions? But that was pure speculation, patently false, and Gil had refuted it at every turn, which had only encouraged Colette. 

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing,” Tarvek said, and Gil almost laughed. Yes, even if Ms. Thorpe thought them a couple, she would never guess that they might be engaged!

Ms. Thorpe gave him a skeptical look. “Perhaps,” she said, before admonishing them to pick up the pace. Yes, of course. No sense in delay. 

Gil looked to Tarvek, and Tarvek sent him a tiny smile. Well. At least maybe they could become friends again.


End file.
